CAPTURED FRAMES

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Take that pen, the one on the nightside table,
used in the book you're reading on the Dalai Lama--as a placeholder,
or for underlining your favorite passages.

Take that pen, and draw upon my skin,
in a place I can't see but only feel,
as you connect the freckles along the backside of my thigh
and I quiver from the pressure of your traveling hand.

Is it as large as a house? I ask,
Or small enough to fit inside a suitcase?
Is it edible, or make noise, or have a distinguishable scent?
Could I pick it up and move it?
If I cast it off, would it come back?
Is it part of who you are?
Is it a part of us, and if so
must we stand still to behold it?

Give me a hint! I plea, as the lines you make
are more defined than my guesses.

We can sail away from here, tomorrow, if you like.

I then take that pen
and draw for you my heart and a parachute,
just in case our boat gets lost.